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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064455">call it even</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemons/pseuds/daemons'>daemons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the last people on earth; [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Cohabitation, Angst, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships, hints of kenny/matt, we are the elite and we still don't know how to communicate with each other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:48:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemons/pseuds/daemons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s ridiculous. It’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s the most absurd offer Matt could imagine. He can think of nothing more illogical and stupid then spending four nights in Hangman’s house in some backwater town in hickville Virginia, far too close to North Carolina for Matt’s taste, staying with a man he’s still <i>stupidly</i> sleeping with. It’s the dumbest thing Matt could do.</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” is what he says.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Matt Jackson/"Hangman" Adam Page</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the last people on earth; [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>call it even</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>warnings will be added as the chapters get updated. current warnings at end of chapter.</p><p>any geographical errors about the state of carolina and virgina are my bad. </p><p>i guess this is swerving away from kayfabe now because certain significant others do not exist in this universe. this is set before Being the Elite Episode 215 "A Birthday and a Death", and straight after the Dynamite episode where FTR tip beer on Kenny's head. </p><p>title from "tis the damn season" by taylor swift.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kenny and Matt almost never fight.</p><p>There are, of course, some notable exceptions. But they’re far and few in between, because they never argue, almost never disagree, and when they do fight, it’s an all out war. It’s a punch each other in the face until one or both of them are bleeding kind of event. Maybe it’s so intense because it almost never happens.</p><p>So Matt doesn’t really know how this happened.</p><p>It’s been a tense few weeks for Kenny, Matt knows. FTR have been worming themselves deeper into the scene, into all of their problems, and Hangman keeps talking to them like he can’t see exactly how slimy they are. Sad truth of it, Matt realizes, is that he probably can’t. There’s a sick jealousy that rises in Matt’s chest when he sees Page talking to FTR, his smile wide, and he wonders if Kenny feels the same. Or if Kenny is just worried about what this means for their tag team.</p><p>Point is, Matt hates FTR. So he doesn’t know how this happened.</p><p>The peace offering had been Matt’s idea, because he could feel the breaking point with Page, and Kenny and Nick had thought it was a good one. It’s unfortunate that Kenny got the brunt of the beer when it got uptipped over his curls, dripping down his face and soaking his shirt, and it’s unfortunate that it’s apparently that moment that Kenny decides to go feral on Marko Stunt to boot. It’s a shitty night all around, and Matt only catches the tail end of Hangman and Kenny’s conversation <i>(Is that how you act?)</i>. His nerves are as raw as everyone else’s.</p><p>Maybe it’s less to do with FTR and more to do with the outright cold panic Matt felt when he saw Nick rip Kenny off of Marko, because, because— because they were <i>not</i> doing this again. Matt <i>can’t</i> do this again. </p><p>“I mean, what’s their goddamn problem, you know?” Kenny’s outraged voice cuts through the tension building in Matt, the three of them lounging in the EVP room. Hangman had made himself scarce after what Kenny said to him, but his gear is still tucked neatly in the corner. Matt watched him pack that bag this morning, leaning in the hotel room bathroom door, pretending not to see the bottle of whiskey tucked under bandanas and clothes, and just watched the movements of Adam’s shoulders under his worn t-shirt. But, no one has to know that. </p><p>“—come here, show us nothing but disrespect, and they got Hangman playing for them—”</p><p>“Look,” Matt interjects, not really thinking before he says, “Maybe we should, you know, give them a break, huh? Clean slate, water under the bridge.”</p><p>Kenny stares at him, “What?”</p><p>Nick is also staring at Matt like he grew a second head. Matt suddenly feels scrutinised and small.</p><p>“What?” he snaps, defensive, “If Page trusts them so much, maybe we should too.”</p><p>It sounds wrong, somehow, and from the flash of anger across Kenny’s face, he thinks so too. He laughs, incredulously, and it makes Matt’s hackles go up.</p><p>“Are you- are you serious?” Kenny asks. He’s smiling with all his teeth, and Matt suddenly feels like prey being pinned by a predator. “What- what, now you care what Page thinks?”</p><p>Matt grits his teeth. “I’m just sayin’, maybe we should just. Trust Hangman’s feelings on this one. Maybe he’s right, you know, it’s just— maybe they didn’t mean any disrespect—”</p><p>Kenny barks out a laugh again, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. He looks like he did in the ring, wild and manic, and it reminds Matt too much of a time he doesn’t particularly want to remember. He can see Nick shifting in the corner of his eye, like he’s on guard.</p><p>“Am I- are you fucking with me, Matt?” Kenny says. “Do you not remember two years ago? Because I sure as hell do. And you want me to trust Page’s judgment on this? I’m his tag partner and I— Why the hell are <i>you</i> even siding with him?” </p><p>“Because that’s meant to be your effing job!” Matt spits, before he can think better of it. He stands up. “You’re his goddamn tag partner, maybe you should damn well act like it for once. Then maybe this shit wouldn’t keep happening to you. Maybe <i>then</i> they wouldn’t keep leaving you!”</p><p>He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. He can hear Nick’s quiet <i>Matt</i> and sees the way Kenny freezes, because—</p><p>It’s not even the meanest thing Matt could say, but it’s definitely a low blow. Matt knows why Kenny holds Page at bay as a tag team partner, knows that he’s worried about fucking it up like he did with Kota, knows that he’s been thinking about Kota a lot more recently. Thinking about Kota leaving him, leaving him in more ways than just wrestling.</p><p>The thing about Kenny is Matt always knows how to hit where it hurts. Kenny has such a glaringly obvious soft spot in the shape of Kota Ibushi that it’s easy to press at it. Matt never does, because it’s cruel.</p><p>Matt is being cruel, now, on purpose. He doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t even like FTR, but he just—</p><p>Kenny’s eyes are shining with rage, fixed on Matt, and Matt braces for a fight. Braces for Kenny to snap, to lose it, for the terrifying inevitability of Kenny just going off the deep end—</p><p>It never comes. Kenny deflates like a balloon, his shoulders slumping, and Matt suddenly feels like the world’s biggest piece of shit.</p><p>“Kenny-” he starts, voice apologetic, stepping forward, but Kenny is already leaving through the door and then he’s gone. Nick steps in the way, blocking Matt’s view, preventing him from going after the other man. He looks— worried. </p><p>“Just leave it,” he says, eyes scanning over Matt like he’s looking for injuries. “What the hell was that?”</p><p>“I—” Matt says, but he can’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t know what that was. His chest hurts, he feels like absolute dirt, and he just slumps back down onto the couch. Nick sighs, putting one hand on the top of Matt’s head in an affectionate gesture.</p><p>Kenny doesn’t come back to the EVP room. Matt leaves a bit later, to go over some things for Dark with Cody, and when he comes back Kenny’s gear is gone and Nick sighs. He looks worried when Matt flops back down on the couch.</p><p>“Maybe you should come to California with me,” he says, “I know you wanted to stay here, spend time with Kenny in Orlando, but—”</p><p>What’s unspoken is obvious. Kenny wants nothing to do with Matt right now, so Matt is stuck in Jacksonville by himself for the next five days. It’s not often he doesn’t go home to Cali, but things had been so rough with Kenny these past few months that they’d decided to spend the week together, sorting through EVP duties one on one in Orlando and coming back up to Jacksonville on Tuesday. The idea had been to fix things, get their relationship back on solid ground.</p><p>Obviously, Matt had to go and fuck that up spectacularly. So it looked like it was gonna be a lonely few days in his hotel room. He doubts he could even get Page to hang around for a few days. Everyone is keen to get home, and Page has been talking about his plans up in South Boston for days now. Matt wonders, briefly, with a hot needle of jealousy if he hangs out with FTR up there. </p><p>“Matt,” Nick says, breaking through Matt’s sulking. “It’ll be fine. Just- give him a few days to calm down. He loves you, he’s not gonna- he’ll be fine.”</p><p>Matt nods, knowing what his brother is saying is true, but it doesn’t feel like it right now. Nick sighs again, and he comes over to sit next to Matt on the couch. His gear is packed next to the door, ready to go to the airport and catch his flight. </p><p>“Please come with me,” Nick pleads, “I’m worried ‘bout you, Matt.” </p><p>Matt forces a smile on his face, turning to face Nick. His eyes are wide with worry, forehead creased, and Matt resists the urge to smooth out the lines on his brother’s face. It hurts to know that he’s the one that put them there.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Matt says. He sounds far more reassured then he feels. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just. I’ll explore Jacksonville, see the sights, you know.”</p><p>Nick huffs a laugh, which is a fair point. Most of Jacksonville is shut down at the moment. There’s not a whole lot to do.</p><p>“And besides, Cody and Brandi will probably be back down early, anyway. It’ll be fine.”</p><p>Nick still looks fretful, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Matt knows he’s contemplating staying himself, but Matt also knows how eager he is to get home. </p><p>“Go,” Matt insists, “It’s fine.”</p><p>He doesn’t know how many times he can say that until he believes it himself, but it seems to convince Nick.</p><p>It’s only after Nick has gone, looking torn the whole time but needing to catch his flight, that Matt finally allows himself to wallow in the EVP room. It’s late, now, the sounds of Daily’s Place packing up teetering off into silence. After days of rushing and busyness and being surrounded by people, Matt feels an awful stab of loneliness. </p><p>The door to the room opens, and Matt swings around with his mouth open, half expecting it to be Kenny. It’s not. </p><p> “Hey.” Hangman says as he cautiously steps inside, eyes scanning the place. “I— just came to get my gear. You seen Kenny?”</p><p>Matt huffs, “Nope. Think he left.”</p><p>Hangman frowns, “Oh. I thought— nevermind.”</p><p>Right, Matt had told Page that he was going down to Orlando with Kenny for a few days. He could see Page’s insecurity from a mile away, his rotten attitude about it all. And sure enough, Page had seemed unhappy about it, but Matt had just chalked it up to what Hangman is like. Moody. Not that Matt has a leg to stand on on that front right now. </p><p>“Nope,” Matt says, “Just me here.”</p><p>Hangman moves over to his gear in the corner, picking it up. He’s still frowning.</p><p>“You staying in Jacksonville, then? Not going back home?”</p><p>Matt nods his head, and Hangman shifts on his feet. Page was probably trying to connect the dots right now, try and figure out what’s going on, what went wrong. Matt doesn’t particularly want to divulge that information to him.</p><p>“Where are you— what are you gonna do, then?”</p><p>“Gonna just stay at the hotel,” Matt says, and even to his own ears he doesn’t sound happy about it. “Get some work done, you know.”</p><p>“Sure.” Hangman says, picking up his gear. Matt watches him wander around, even though all his stuff was in one specific corner, like he’s scared of even his belongings taking up space. As he heads back to the door, Matt watches the solid line of his shoulders tense, stopping just before he opens it.</p><p>Before Matt can say anything, Hangman spins around. He looks flustered.</p><p>“Come stay with me,” Adam says, quickly, like the words are ripped from his throat without his consent, “In Virginia. I mean- only until we need to come back.”</p><p>Matt stares at him for the longest moment. A red flush travels across Adam’s cheeks and nose, but he doesn’t look away.</p><p>“What?” Matt asks, even though he heard what Page said perfectly. He just, doesn’t know what to make of it.</p><p>Hangman’s face twists, like he doesn’t want to repeat it, but he sets his jaw and looks right back at Matt.</p><p>“You should, look— it’s just, you should come stay with me. I- I have a guest room. And it’s a small town, you know, so we have more freedom because the virus hasn’t hit us so. Uh. It’s— it’s a eight hour drive, but it’s not too bad and— it’s real pretty country up there. Might be better for you than just stayin’ in a hotel by yourself for a week.”</p><p>It’s ridiculous. It’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s the most absurd offer Matt could imagine. He can think of nothing more illogical and stupid then spending four nights in Hangman’s house in some backwater town in hickville Virginia, far too close to North Carolina for Matt’s taste, staying with a man he’s still <i>stupidly</i> sleeping with. It’s the dumbest thing Matt could do.</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” is what he says. Hangman’s eyes widen, like he really <i>really</i> wasn’t expecting Matt to say yes and honestly— Matt knows how he feels. He wasn’t expecting it either.</p><p>“I— okay.” Hangman says, eloquently, and Matt resists the urge to laugh at the look of disbelief on his face. This is one the dumbest things Matt has agreed to, but yet— maybe it could be nice. South Boston sounds quiet, peaceful, removed from the stress and drama of Jacksonville. Although, Matt would be staying with one of those huge sources of drama. </p><p>Whatever, he can at least get a blowjob out of it.</p><p>“Okay.” Adam repeats, and Matt does laugh this time.</p><p>-</p><p>The next morning, Hangman comes knocking at Matt’s door with coffee. Matt’s ready to go, been ready to go for a few hours now. Sleep had eluded him for most of the night, still worried about Kenny and whether or not This, capital T and all, was a good idea. He takes the coffee like a man dying of thirst</p><p>Hangman looks as tired as Matt feels, curls damp and pulled back from his face, bags under his eyes and a slightly pale complexion. Matt guesses that he’s hungover- he has no idea where Hangman ended up last night. He knows FTR was still around, knows that Page probably ended up drinking with them at the hotel bar. Whatever.</p><p>“You good to drive?” Matt asks, unable to keep the slight snippiness out of his tone. Page just flaps an dismissive hand at him, and Matt tries not to seethe about it as he climbs into Hangman’s SUV. They’re already off to a <i>great</i> start.</p><p>Hangman’s car is surprisingly clean, only a few empty cans in the backseat and discarded gear. Matt picks up one of the abandoned bandanas, tossing it around in his hands as Hangman pulls onto the 95.</p><p>“We’re gonna be on here for ‘bout six hours,” Hangman says, conversationally, “If you wanna stop anywhere let me know.”</p><p>“We should switch driving half way,” Matt responds. Hangman shrugs.</p><p>Matt flattens the bandana out and, on a whim, ties it around his head until it covers his mouth. He pulls his hairband out and lets his hair fall around his shoulders. He sees Hangman glance at him out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>Matt grins behind the fabric, and holds his fingers out in a gun pose, “Stick ‘em up cowboy.” </p><p>Hangman chuckles, but it sounds strained. Matt watches his hands clench on the steering wheel, and the rise of pink that settles on his cheeks.</p><p>“Weird sight, seeing Matt Jackson in someone else’s merch,” Hangman says, eyes focused on the road ahead of them, “Sorry, it probably ain’t as big of a seller as some of your shirts.”</p><p>Matt pulls the sun visor down to expose the mirror. He looks strange with the bandana- he definitely doesn’t have the same western-cowboy energy that Hangman does- and the giant <i>ADAM PAGE</i> printed down the side is absolutely ridiculous. He ends up pulling it down so it sits around his neck, and settles back into his seat. </p><p>The radio hums for awhile, Matt mostly tuning out sounds of the top charts and the droning of the radio host. After a bit, Hangman reaches over to the dash to fiddle with something, and the music switches to something with more guitars and soft vocals.</p><p>“Your playlist?” Matt hazards a guess, looking away from from the highway landscape to glance over at Hangman. The other man nods.</p><p>“Bit of everything in there. Not a lot of Christian rock, unfortunately,” he says, voice thoughtful, “So it might not be up your alley.”</p><p>Matt gapes at him.</p><p>“I don’t- I don’t just listen- I listen to <i>more</i> than-” he sputters, feeling a bit outraged.</p><p>Page laughs, suddenly. It’s a rare sound that stuns Matt into silence. A grin spreads across Page’s face, and Matt can’t help but smile back, though he tries to keep the outraged look about him.</p><p>“Sorry,” Page says, but he clearly doesn’t mean it, “If you wanna change the music, go ‘head.”</p><p>Matt nods, “Maybe, if there’s too much of the Dixie Chicks on this.”</p><p>“Hey,” Adam complains, “I love the Chicks.”</p><p>Matt laughs, and settles back to look out the window. The music is nice, a variety of country and rock, enough that Matt knows most of the songs that come through. It fills the silence, and it means that Matt doesn’t have to make too much conversation. He doesn’t feel too up to it, and he doesn’t think Page does either. </p><p>Eventually, the fretful night and monotonous landscape catches up to Matt, and lulls him to sleep.  </p><p>He’s awoken with a start. For a second he forgets where he is, heart beating a million miles per hour, and then he registers Hangman’s hand on his arm, jostling it.</p><p>“Hey,” his low voice breaks through the fog in Matt’s head, “Had to stop for gas, if you wanna get anythin’.”</p><p>Matt rubs his eyes, groaning slightly, and looks out of the car. They’ve stopped at some classic looking service station, fit with the old fashioned gas pumps and an dingy looking diner attached to the main store.</p><p>“Mm,” Matt says, voice raspy, still half asleep, “Where are we?”</p><p>“Just passed into South Carolina,” Hangman says, unbuckling his seatbelt, “We’re just south of Hardeeville.” </p><p>“How long was I asleep?”</p><p>“Coupla hours.”</p><p>“You should have woken me up.”</p><p>“But you looked so peaceful,” Hangman says, voice purposely patronising.</p><p>Matt rolls his eyes and Page grins at him. Matt watches him for a second when he looks away, the way he stretches in his seat, then shakes himself out of it and grabs his face mask.</p><p>The air outside is hot, but dry, which is a welcome change from the sometimes stifling humidity of Florida. The gas station stands lonesome on a barely-maintained road, the buildings in the direct area particularly sparse. In the distant he can see what looks to be some sort of main street, but not a lot of people. The inside of the gas station is basic, only a few diners in the adjacent cafe, the low hum of conversation tuned out to Matt’s ears. He makes a beeline for the drink fridge, pulling a few overpriced gatorades and bottles of water from the shelves. Through the window he can see Page pumping the gas, leaning against his car with his face tilted up towards the sunlight. </p><p>At the counter, he puts the drinks down in front of the bored looking checkout person, and stretches until he feels the knot in his back pop. When he sees Page hang up the gas nozzle, he points to the pump number and rings it through on his card.</p><p>Page meets him halfway outside, and Matt hands him one of the Gatorades. </p><p>“Gas is all paid for,” Matt says, and nudges him back to the car. Page resists, and looks at Matt.</p><p>“You didn’t- you shouldn’t’ve— I can <i>pay</i>,”</p><p>“Christ,” Matt mutters, “Yeah, I know you can. It’s not a big deal, I was already in there— just, don’t be shitty about it.”</p><p>Page’s face twists, and he seems to stop resisting Matt’s hand. He doesn’t meet Matt’s eyes when he mumbles what sounds like a thanks, and Matt decides to leave it as they get back to the car. It’s already awkward enough.</p><p>Matt insists on driving for the next leg, and he doesn’t know if Hangman is still pissy about the gas or what, but he concedes. The car isn’t far off Matt’s own SUV, and it’s easy to drive, after a few seat adjustments.</p><p>The tension eases a bit when they get back on the road, the small brick towns blending together with the forested landscape as the car heads towards North Carolina. They talk about everything and nothing- specifically avoiding anything to do with the tag belts, or Kenny, or any kind of hopes of the future in AEW. They seem to avoid wrestling in general. It seems like anything could be a minefield, especially when it comes to Page, and Matt doesn’t want to accidentally set him off. So they talk about music and movies and things they’ve been watching on Netflix. Matt talks calming nonsense about his niece and nephews, about what they’ve been doing in school and how they always want to talk to him when Nick has them on call.</p><p>Hangman doesn’t really talk about his family. At all. It’s something Matt has always noticed about him, long before this car ride, and he doesn’t push it. It’s not his place, but it makes him curious. It makes him realize that, although he’s known Page on a relatively close level for over four years now, ever since Nick and Adam Cole (bless his soul) plucked him from BJ Whitmer all those years ago, Matt doesn’t know him as well as he thought. </p><p>Maybe he hasn’t been paying attention. Maybe Page hasn’t been commanding it.</p><p>After another few hours, Page gets Matt to pull into another stop, a full fledged roadside diner this time, somewhere in North Carolina. The roads are getting more worn, less maintained, and the buildings are getting more and more- vintage is probably the best term for it. The diner Page has chosen looks like it could be lifted from an magazine article on the 60s, fit with appropriate looking locals, and Matt feels more out of place the further they get into this area of the states. </p><p>This probably is a very bad idea.</p><p>Matt is ravenously downing the pot of coffee the lovely young waitress had set down for them after Page had, in a somewhat out of character moment, charmed her instantly with his good looks and southern twang. He’d even called her ma’am, much to Matt’s bewilderment. But it scored them hot coffee and their ordered meals being promised to them at a fast pace, so Matt just files it away.</p><p>“You been to NC often?” Page asks, conversationally. He’s staring out the window at the quiet road outside, at nothing Matt can see.</p><p>Matt shrugs, “For the occasional show here and there. Been to the Hardy Compound probably more then any human needs to be.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Me’n’Nick have known those two for years. It comes with the territory.”</p><p>Page hums, “What’s it like?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“The Hardy Compound.”</p><p>Matt snorts, “Just as creepy as you’d think. It’s beautiful, but there’s something. Off about it.”</p><p>It’s Page’s turn to laugh this time, “Sounds like the Hardys themselves. I’ve never felt- they just have that energy.”</p><p>Matt frowns, “You’ve met them— I mean, before Matt showed up with us?”</p><p>Page nods, “Once, a long time ago. Matt tried to recruit me, then he beat me. I’m— you were there— on the card. Ring of Honor.”</p><p>Matt stares at him, “We were?”</p><p>“Yeah. It’s okay, though. Don’t expect you to remember.”</p><p>Matt opens his mouth to keep questioning this revelation- because <i>what</i>- but their food arrives and Page has gone back to turning those baby blues on the waitress, who giggles. Matt averts his eyes down to his eggs for a second.</p><p>“Kinda made the whole Benjamin Franklin thing a bit weird,” Page continues, chewing around his words, “But I guess he’s all- Broken, you know. It’s not even Hardy.”</p><p>Matt shrugs, and they fall back into a somewhat comfortable silence. Page seems more animated, happier, and Matt wonders if it’s the coffee, or because they’re closer to Virginia. Car trips always make Matt hungry, and they hadn’t even stopped for breakfast, so the food disappears quickly. Matt leans back in the booth, the vinyl seat squeaking under him.</p><p>“So, do FTR live close to here?” he asks conversationally. Page looks up at him, and his eyes narrow. There’s a beat, like he’s trying to read Matt, figure out what he means.</p><p>“You don’t really care about that.” Page finally responds. It’s not a threat, more- a fact. A statement. He still looks suspicious.</p><p>“I guess not,” Matt says, “Just curious.”</p><p>The suspicious look finally fades from Page’s face, and he goes back to drinking his coffee.</p><p>“They don’t,” he says, after a few minutes, breaking the silence again, “They’re about five hours out west from here. Not even close.”</p><p>Matt feels something unknot in his chest, which immediately makes him feel stupid. He doesn’t care about FTR. He doesn’t. Hangman gives him a look, and before Matt can react, he reaches across the table. Matt doesn’t move as Page carefully adjusts the bandana Matt had forgotten he had been wearing around his neck. It’s a small motion, just so it lies flat in the hollow of Matt’s throat, but he feels frozen in his seat.</p><p>“There,” Page murmurs, more to himself, and Matt doesn’t say anything. </p><p>Eventually, Page settles the bill after some back and forth, and they get back on the road. Matt is pretty sure the waitress gave Hangman her phone number on the back of the receipt, and he pretends not to notice Page putting it in his wallet along with his card. It’s none of his business. </p><p>Page gets back behind the wheel for the last leg, and despite the copious amount of coffee Matt has already ingested, he finds himself getting lulled back to sleep as they pass through Fayetteville. He notices Hangman turn the music down, to a barely audible volume, and wonders briefly if that is for his benefit. The buzz of the radio and the rocking of the car eventually puts him under, and he can hear Hangman humming along to something as he drifts off.</p><p>-</p><p>Matt is woken up again, this time by the motion of the car coming to a rolling stop. He blinks blearily, and stretches in his seat when he hears Hangman’s car door open and the crunch of gravel under his boots.</p><p>The place they’ve pulled up to is a classic white shingle two storied house, with the front porch stretching out along the width of it. About sixty yards behind them, facing the house, is a wide expanse of lush green woods. Matt can see the driveway breaking through the trees, and is disappointed he missed the canopy of leaves they would’ve driven under to get here. </p><p>He gets his bag from the trunk, and follows Hangman to the front door. Page gets the door open and pushes it so Matt can step inside just behind him.</p><p>“Well,” he says, his voice quiet, “Home sweet home.”</p><p>The house is darkened, only glimpses of the slowly setting sun coming through the windows, and Matt takes it in as Hangman moves around to open the blinds. The walls are the same white colour as the outside, with a few art pieces hung with no rhyme or reason on the walls. The place is far cleaner then Matt expected. There are a few empty alcohol cans and glasses scattered on the long coffee table in front of the couch, but there’s no dishes in the sink or a general array of messiness. To be fair, Hangman isn’t really known to be the messiest member of the Elite- that honor falls squarely on Kenny- but Matt was expecting something a little more…. fitting of Hangman’s insecure and chaotic disposition.</p><p>There’s a effing color scheme, for Christ’s sake. </p><p>“It’s not much,” Page interrupts Matt’s thought. He stands in the middle of the room, rubbing his neck nervously. “But it’s mine.”</p><p>“It’s nice,” Matt says, honestly, and Hangman’s mouth quirks into half a smile, “I uh— where should I put this?”</p><p>Page leads him up the stairs, and Matt resists the urge to stop and look at the pictures on the wall. The guest room has the same disorganized color scheme as the rest of the house- mainly white and beige- and is definitely not a room often visited. It smells really only of linen. There’s a queen bed in the middle, some basic sheets and pillows on it, and a few boxes and exercise equipment shoved in the corner. Matt assumes Page uses the room for storage more than he ever has guests over. </p><p>“Um,” Page mumbles, and Matt turns to look at him, “Bathroom is down the hall first door to the right. Towels are, uh, in the cupboard there. I’m— I need to go into town to get, uh, look— make yourself at home, okay?”</p><p>With that, he leaves Matt standing in the middle of the room- wondering, not for the first time, if this really is an awful idea. The air is full of awkward tension that Matt has no idea how to expel. Maybe it’ll fade- maybe Page is just uneasy with someone new being in his house. He’s a very isolated guy at times- it makes sense. </p><p>Matt wonders why he even said yes to this. </p><p>He opens the window across the bedroom, the wood creaking, and let’s the air make the room feel less stuffy. The glass faces the backyard of the house, which is just a wide open grass paddock of some sort, littered with maple trees until it hits the edge of the forest. Page’s house is tall enough that Matt can see briefly the shape of other buildings in the distance. The smell of the woods, a mix of maple and pines, filters through the window. All he can hear is the sound of birds, maybe the occasional car or truck in the far away distance, and the slow hum of noises coming from downstairs. It’s peaceful- so still and tranquil compared to the overwhelming rush of crowds of Jacksonville or Rancho Cucamonga. It’s picturesque, straight out of an classic Southern film, but so far removed from what Matt is used to in any capacity. It puts him on edge, just a bit. </p><p>The rest of the house has the same quiet stuffiness that comes with prolonged periods of disuse. The dust settles in the air, with no air circulation, and makes the place feel far colder then it should be. It’s also supremely weird for Matt to be left here by himself, but Hangman had all but run out the door as soon as they stepped foot inside. </p><p>So Matt decides that, fuck it, if Page is going to be a bad host, Matt is gonna look around and absolutely stick his nose in things. </p><p>He needs a shower, desperately- the stale sweat and uncomfortableness of sitting in a car all day is beginning to make his skin itch. It’s hot here, but not humid, which is a definite upgrade from Jacksonville at least. </p><p>It probably would’ve been unbearingly humid in Orlando too. </p><p>He finds the bathroom with relative ease, a mid-size room with two doors. He trails his hand over the assorted sundries scattered on the bench, picking up a half empty cologne bottle to sniff at it delicately. He sets it down and sees, out of the corner of his eye, that one door is ajar. Matt can almost see into Hangman’s bedroom, see the edge of his bed. He ignores the temptation to go snooping, and sets about having a shower instead. </p><p>He catches sight of himself in the mirror, stained with watermarks, and startles at the bandana still tied around his neck. He’d gotten used to the weight of it, the feeling of the fabric on his skin, and the splashed print of <i>Hangman Page</i> stands out like a branding mark. Matt, not sure why he was doing it with such care, unties the bandana and folds it up in his hands, setting it on the bench. His neck feels strange.</p><p>He climbs into the running shower and tries not to think about it too hard. He has a feeling he’s going to be doing a lot of that these next few days.</p><p>-</p><p>Matt is snooping around the living room when Hangman comes back from wherever he went. He’s in the middle of spotting a turned over photo frame, curiosity sticking to him as he makes a move towards it, when he hears the front door bang open. It startles him.</p><p>“Sorry ‘bout that,” Page says as he moves into the kitchen- that’s within view of the living room where Matt is currently trying not to look guilty, “I, uh, forgot that I don’t- don’t have things to host people. Like, food.”</p><p>“Food?”</p><p>“Like- food for you. Food for other people.”</p><p>Matt snorts, because it still doesn’t make sense, but Adam is one of those people that just refuse to make sense sometimes. Page still looks unsure as all hell in his own kitchen, like he’s not sure what to say, awkwardly pulling things out of the plastic grocery bags he’d heaved onto the counter. Matt watches him, also unsure of what to do or say- is it rude to offer to help? Would it feed Page’s festering insecurity?</p><p>Page pulls a carton of Diet Coke from the bag and prods it towards Matt, “This is, uh, this is for you.”</p><p>“Oh,” Matt says, “Thanks.”</p><p>The tension eases a bit, like the Diet Coke is some sort of peace-offering in this weird and definitely ill-advised arrangement, and it seems to fix the general air of uneasiness around Page. They end up falling into a comfortable silence- very rare for them- as Hangman moves around the kitchen, pulling pans out and organizing chicken and vegetables. </p><p>It’s- strange. Strange to see Hangman has an somewhat fully functional human being. Matt knows this, obviously- he’s known the man for years and knows that he’s lived by himself for most of those years. He’s not dead yet, so he has to be somewhat self sustaining- it’s just. Hangman has been an thorn in Matt’s side- semi-regular sex aside- and a thorn in the Elite’s side because he doesn’t seem to be able to take care of himself. It’s always Adam is freaking out about this, or needs reassurance on that, or is passed out drunk in a hallway somewhere because of god knows what. Maybe-- no. Matt pushes aside the thought and pulls one of the chopping boards across the counter towards him, batting Hangman’s hands away from the knife, and gets to chopping carrots. </p><p>Matt ends up busying himself with work as Page finishes up dinner, mainly responding to and checking emails. He’s so preoccupied with a very strange email from what seems to be the Dark Order that he barely notices Hangman set a plate down beside him and wander off into the adjacent living room. He hears the buzz of the tv as he checks his messages from Nick (<i>Are you sure you don’t want to just fly out to Cali?</i>) and closes his laptop. </p><p>“What are you watching?” he asks as he makes his way back into the living room, deciding <i>screw it</i> and sitting down on the other end of the couch to prod at his dinner. Page looks startled.</p><p>“Um, just a documentary,” he says, and he looks awkward again, “I can- I can change it, if you want?” </p><p>Matt shakes his head, his mouth full from food, and gestures with his fork to the tv, “No, please. I’ll catch up.”</p><p>It’s a documentary series, so it proves impossible to catch up, but it allows Matt to mope from the couch and ponder the fact that right now, he’d definitely be having a better time in Orlando. He and Kenny have an easy chemistry, an easy friendship that comes from years of basically living in each others pockets and something that just comes naturally. Matt has never minded hanging out with Kenny even if they were doing vastly different things; it was just easy to exist around him. Hangman made Matt feel like he was constantly walking on a minefield, aggravating him at every turn. He was always so unsure of himself- a stark difference to Kenny, who, for all of his nerdy demeanor, is comfortable with exactly who he is. </p><p>Matt wonders, not for the first time today, if he’d be having a better time in Jacksonville right now. He isn’t sure. </p><p>After Netflix starts flashing the “Are you still watching?” sign, Page gets up and takes Matt’s empty plate from next to him and heads to the kitchen. They haven’t really said anything to each other, and Matt is beginning to feel exhausted again. He follows Page out.</p><p>“Hey, I think I’m gonna call it a day,” he says, and Page glances over at him from the sink, “It’s, uh, been a long couple of days.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Hangman says, and Matt’s about to head off when he turns around to face him fully, splashing a bit of water from the sink. Matt raises his eyebrows. “I just.”</p><p>His face twists, like he’s trying to run the entire conversation through his head, and rubs at the back of his neck before continuing, “I just- I’m not really used to people, y’know, being here and I- I uh, I hope it’s. Okay.”</p><p>Matt tries to give him a reassuring smile. It feels forced. “It’s fine, Hangman, honestly. It’s good. Thanks for- thanks for inviting me. It’s much- it’s better than some hotel room.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Hangman says, face still twisted, “I just didn’t want you to think- nevermind.”</p><p>“Hm?” Matt is confused. </p><p>“It’s, it’s fine,” Hangman murmurs, and pulls a kind of half-hearted smile at Matt, “Let me, let me know if you need anything.”</p><p>That’s probably the most Matt is gonna get out of him for the night, so he lets it be and heads back up the stairs. He hears a loud clatter from the kitchen, like Page threw something down into the sink, but he ignores it. </p><p>The guest bed is somewhat comfortable, more than Matt would’ve expected, and the sheets smell like basic laundry detergent. The night is so still, especially after Matt hears Page’s footsteps leading past his room and to the end of the wall. Deathly quiet, almost. There’s no traffic, no buzzing of lights, no distant voices of hotel room neighbors. Matt doubts Orlando would be this quiet.</p><p>It’s almost unnerving. Matt has spent his entire life in the city. He doesn’t know what to do with the silence of rural towns. So he tosses and turns and begs his mind to stop being so on edge.</p><p>He keeps drifting back to Kenny. </p><p>
  <i>Maybe then they wouldn’t keep leaving you!</i>
</p><p>God, he’s a piece of shit. Matt doesn’t know why he said that- hell, he doesn’t even know why he started arguing with Kenny in the first place, really. He was <i>right!</i> FTR are so far into Hangman’s head it’s painful, and it’s been a thread that’s wearing thinner and thinner on Matt’s patience as the games continue. The fact that Hangman can’t see- refuses to see- exactly what FTR are playing at is so infuriating and yet-</p><p>Kenny had been so angry. Scarily angry. And Matt had snapped because he can’t do this again, he <i>won’t</i> do this again, he won’t give up this Kenny to the darkness and fight tooth and nail to get him back. So he panicked. </p><p>But maybe referencing Kota hadn’t been his smartest move in the world. </p><p>Matt checks his phone, again, the white light making him squint in the darkness. He has two notifications- a sad face from Nick, and an follow up email from Brandon. And that’s it. Nothing from-</p><p>Matt sighs, puts his phone back on the bedside table, and tries fitfully to go to sleep. </p><p>-</p><p>Matt is being handed something. A vial of powder. There’s a grin on Kenny’s face, stretching up towards the rim of his aviators, like a Chesire cat. </p><p>Matt is afraid.</p><p>“For me, Matty,” Kenny murmurs, and his hand clasps around Matt’s. The vial is pressed between his palms. “You have to do it for us. For the Elite.”</p><p>Nick isn’t here. Matt wants to ask where Nick is, where is his brother, he should be here, but then he can see tear-stains on Nick’s cheeks and he looks so young, like a teenager again, pulling at Matt’s sleeves and trusting him to make sure everything is going to be okay, and Matt keeps his mouth shut. </p><p>Kenny presses his hand to the side of Matt’s face, like a caress. It feels like a punch. Matt swears his mouth is bleeding.</p><p>It’s always the same steps, the same dreaded walk to the room, the same can of Monster, the same poison. It’s always Adam Cole’s face, open and friendly, but Matt knows he’s going to betray them, he knows what he’s going to do to them, and it’s a matter of- Kenny said- Matt has to betray him before he betrays them. </p><p>He looks down, away from Adam, at the energy drink in his hand- but, it’s not, it’s not a Monster can, it’s a glass of brown liquid, and when Matt looks back up, something twisting sharply in his chest-</p><p>Hangman smiles at him- which- it’s wrong. Hangman never smiles anymore, his mouth always pulled down, and he takes the glass and puts it to his lips, and the vial is empty in Matt’s hand, the sharp edges of crushed glass pressing into the skin between his fingers, and he’s screaming but nothing is coming out of his mouth. His throat hurts but he’s silent, frozen to the spot, as Hangman drinks.</p><p><i>It’s poison</i> he wants to say, but his mouth has been sewn shut. <i>It’s poison!</i></p><p>Matt turns away, doesn’t want to watch, as the sound of choked coughing fills his ears. Wet gargling, a death rattle. Matt looks towards the door and Kenny laughs, loud and cruel, and lifts his hand. <i>Goodbye, and goodnight!</i></p><p>Matt tears his mouth open, blood seeping into his sneakers, a hand pulling at his jeans, and screams.</p><p>-</p><p>Matt shoots out of bed with a cut-off yell, the sheets getting tangled in his legs as he pitches towards the floor. He manages to catch himself before he smacks his face, stumbling onto his feet and bracing himself against the wall as he tries to get his heart-rate down.</p><p>He hasn’t had that dream in awhile. And it’s always been Adam Cole never-</p><p>He’s still half asleep, panic seeping into his bones, as he wrenches open the door and starts stumbling down the hallway. He’s being ridiculous, he knows this, as he creaks open Hangman’s bedroom door. Nick is the one that gets prophetic visions, has always been the one, but Matt still isn’t sure what causes them in his little brother and if it’s genetic-</p><p>“Matt?” </p><p>Adam’s voice is sleep-rough and quiet, shifting under the sheets in the bed across the room. He sits up in the dark, blinking blearily at Matt in confusion, and Matt feels like he’s going out of his mind. He walks towards him slowly, eyes fixated on Hangman, on the rise and fall of his bare chest. </p><p>“Hey, what’s- <i>mmph</i>.”</p><p>Matt cuts him off with a rough kiss, half climbing onto the bed, determined to get his hands on warm skin. Adam doesn’t protest much, mouth slack with surprise, before he seems to get an idea and paws at Matt’s hips until Matt is fully in his lap. Matt continues to try and stick his tongue down Adam’s throat. He kind of tastes like stale beer, but he’s hot and alive under Matt’s mouth and that’s all he really cares about right now. </p><p>Matt pulls away, breathing hard, and shoves his hand down the front of Adam’s pajama pants, grabbing at his half-hard cock, causing the other man to choke with surprise.</p><p>“What the-- <i>Matt</i>-”</p><p>“Shut up,” Matt hisses into Adam’s neck, and sets about pulling him off with sharp, tight jerks. Neither of them say anything after that, just Adam’s harsh panting filling the room. Matt presses his mouth to the slide of Adam’s throat as he tenses, stifling a moan as hot liquid spurts into Matt’s hand.</p><p>Adam looks stunned, eyes still half-lidded, as Matt rolls over onto his back and grasps his own dick with his now-wet hand. It only takes a few jerks before he’s coming too, like a cramp finally relaxing, and the panic leeches from his bones. </p><p>“Matt-” Adam starts again, turning to press his face into Matt’s outstretched arm, “Matt, are you-”</p><p>“It’s fine.” Matt croaks, even though it’s kind of not. It doesn’t matter, now. Adam is alive and Matt is fine, “Just-”</p><p>He makes a move to get up, and Adam makes a protesting noises and pulls at him.</p><p>“Stay,” he murmurs, his eyes falling shut as he paws at Matt again, trying to get him to lay back down. Matt wipes his hand off on the edge of the bed, and reluctantly obliges. </p><p>Matt is envious of Adam’s ability to go straight back to sleep, his fingers that had been holding onto Matt’s elbow loosening as his body relaxes. Matt feels his own exhaustion creeping in again- the orgasm putting him at ease- and he shifts onto his other side as he buries his face into the spare pillow. He can feel Hangman breathing next to him, the soft sound of air going in and out an unexpected comfort. </p><p><i>This is so effed up.</i> he thinks to himself, and sleep finally, <i>finally</i> overtakes him.</p><p>He doesn’t dream of Kenny’s cold laugh this time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>dedicated to daisy. i'm always so grateful when she reads my garbage. </p><p>i'm trying to make this one slow-burnish even though they've already slept together. Slow Burn Communication? Slow Burn Romance? </p><p>current warnings for implied alcohol abuse and mental illness. also creepy imagery and implied murder in a nightmare.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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